Gaze not into the Abyss
by The Gentleman With A Cane
Summary: The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. This fear has existed since the dawn of humanity and will remain long after it's demise. There are things that slither and crawl about in the dark; horrors and evils unseen. The only thing that can stop these nightmares are a cursed people: Hunters. F/F, F/M (AU)
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer** : _I neither own (nor have any rights) to the movie_ Frozen _, nor any of it's various characters that belong to Walt Disney & Hans Christian Anderson (Such as Elsa, Anna, Kristoff, etc...). I claim no rights to _Bloodborne _,_ Claymore _(Anime/Manga series),_ The Witcher _(Games/Book series),_ Hellsing _(Anime/Manga); however I claim full-rights to any Original Characters, Places, and such. This disclaimer pertains to the entirety of this work and as such I ask you NOT to sue my ass, because although many a person claim it's 'lovely' it's quite poor._ **]**

* * *

 **PROLOGUE - FEAR THE OLD BLOOD**

It was the deafining roar, a strangled cry that reverberated throughout the stone halls and archways that shocked the Queen right down to her core. The whole of the buliding shaked and quaked; the people were stunned into silence. Frightend eyes gazed upwards, some amoungst the congeration already dove beneath the benches like scared children. Few prayed, near silent mumerings that begged and pleaded to whoever, whatever, was listining, "This can't be real, oh please this-"

The elderly preist, the very same man that coronated the Queen, spoke in hushed whisper, "Dear God in Heaven..."

The ornate stained-glass windows that depicted the life of Saint Micheal shattered inward, the two statues of the Angels of Hope and Wisdom broke asunder - the great cross that bore the image of the Saviour fell and the people flew into a panicked frenzy. The guards try in vain - to restore order and peace - but fail amongst the chaos and disorder. Few men are bowed low, their feverish mumurings rising into desperate pleadings of silence as the noise - that dreadful, inhuman, wreched **_NOISE_! ** \- grew louder in it's feral intensity.

This - this day, this moment - was to be blissful, a union between man and wife. Now an event of disparity and ruin - as the tall groom held onto the small bride who called for her elder sibling -

The prayers of the attendies, fearful -

The pleadings of mothers, for their children's sake-

The little ones, who in their innocence understood less than the adults did at what is occuring-

Was paused by a thunderous scream of the... _THING_. The monster, the demon, the nightmare made  real\- grew as the voices of the remaining guards attacked. Those inside heard the booming soung of cannon-fire, shots of musket-fire, with war-cries that sounded into the night, "For the Queen!" and the other valorius idiosyncteries peircing the oppressing air. Some amoungst the hopelss found courage once more, and as the creatures cries grew, they shouted encouragements and prayers to the valiant soliders who fought for their people.

Hope was at last in sight - yet once again Dispair pounced, and with a maw that streached into the endless chasam of the Abyss, devoured it whole.

As gunshots rung and cannon-fire sounded, the anguished cries of the abmonation turned into a gutteral bellow -

The soliders once proud shouts, their steady warnings turned into chilling screams - cries of panic resounded once more into the night. A howling cry, triumphant and supreme echoed -

Then the sounds - unforgettable in their revulsion and dread - turned into a loathsome organic crunching. One brave soul, an old man who lived to see countless battles and skirmishes, peeked outside through a small gap between the anichent chruch boards. And almost instantanously jerked backwards as he threw up in disgust. A young man asked what the old general saw. No answer was given, save for the pale pallor that colored the terror-stricken face.

The young man; couriousity compelling him, as did a sense of youthful arrogance, to look and see as his elder did. As he prepared his nerves to glimpse through to the courtyard, a strong calloused hand gripped his shoulder - the scarred general's face a self-silent panic-

"My boy, some - some things-" He stressed the words as the stuttered and spilled forth. The lines of his face deepening and making him appear ancient, brow furrowing as he serched for the words. "-Some sights are best left unseen." Ending with a slight flex of his grip in hopes that the boy would press no further. Youthful blue eyes met elder-brown; understanding met and passed between the two men.

Yet the moment did not last for long.

"Holy fuck! It's - It's _**eating**_ them alive!"

The bewailing moans and panicked cries resounded, mother's covered their children's ears and glared at the man while the general grabbed the scruff of the fool's neck.

" _Have you lost your damned mind?!_ " He hissed, teeth bared. The frightened sot blustered and babbled incessantly as he was being choked by the unyielding grip, face turning and eyes watering.

A calm presence, one that commanded with both grace and power, came to the moron's aid. A cold hand, one that was likened to winter itself, laid upon the general's shoulder. The voice it belonged to was a low, melodic liltany that soothed and comforted - the Queen's.

"General Hector, please release him." The older-man, relunctantly did as asked. Dropping to the ground admist the shattered glass and crumbled stone, the bluthering idoit turned- scrambling and spluttering nonsense as he went-

And ran out the door, leaving it completely open.

" _Close the door_!" " _That cowardly_ -" " _Oh dear Heaven_ -!" Cries and pleadings rung once more from the congeration- the door hurriedly barred and sealed with what remained of the benches.

The screams of the night were now, breifly, joined by another.

The young Queen, shocked by what she'd witnessed, attempted to make sense of what she had seen. The scarred general laid his burly hand on her delicate shoulder - improperites forgotten and damned.

"Your Majesty..." He began, but lost his voice admist the clamor of the citizens and visiting nobility. All of whom begged for aid, for assurance from the Queen -

That the monster would be destroyed-

that they may live to see another day-

Their pleadings were quieted by the anguished howls, the bestial reverberations of the abmonation. Who sounded louder-

As it's larger, powerful form moved-

It's muzzle; scarred, bloody with bits of flesh and gristle- pulled back in a deep-

resonant-

enraged-

 **snarl**.

... Silence. All around was a vast stillness. None dare break it, none dare move. All of the world was quiet, lifeless as though broken by some force unseen and unreal. The un-natural pause befell the once vibrant center, the heart of the Kingdom.

The red-haired bride cluched onto her groom, normally cheerful face now a pale-imitation of what it once was. Her lips, painted red that day, looked to be coverd in blood. Eyes shadowed, a haunted look for such a young face.

She spoke, breaking the silence-

-shattering the stillness-

-tearing through the quiet.

A word, a plea, a name-

" **Elsa**."

And the Beast roared.

0-0

A lone figure gazed upwards - towards the darkened skies that seemingly streched on forever, decieving in their heavenly serenity and stillness. The stars glittered and looked back like a hundred-thousand eyes-

Feeling-

Sensing-

Knowing-

The Hunt has begun.

0-0

 **[A small tattered note appeares on your table, simpliy reading "Author's Note"]**

Hello, and allow me to introduce myself. I am called by many-many- _MANY_ names, but I like to be known as **The Gentleman With A Cane**. Although you may not know me, I know you- Your the type of person who like's the macabe and horror, yes? To watch the axe-weilding murderer chop up those two hormonal moron's too busy fornicating to notice their demise; or even the type to play horror games? To delve into the world of the unreal and imaginative, to give yourself a small scare, yes? To make that little avatar _die_ , over and over, because of your mistakes- to laugh as your simulated _'terror'_ goes about it's course; for the 'hero' to win and get the girl?

If that is the case, then this story is **NOT** for you.

This story is of such a horror that it would make that psychotic axe-weilding inbreed screech in sheer _TERROR_ , following by thusly shitting his pants and dying of firght- whichever comes first I suppose. It is one where the monsters, although seen, are ultimately unknowable- they defy all logic and reason. They care not for humanity nor their suffering- in fact, they see human's as the meger proverbial 'ant' I'm quite sure.

That is not to say it is _COMPLETE_ Horror; there is much Drama, Adventure to be had with Action inbetween. Comedy is here, although the kind used is often grim and dark; so be aware. Angst abounds in corners along with the obvious Horror element. There may even be a Romance or two-

But I get ahead of myself, and this note becomes a letter. As well as writing this tale, this is my first. In both this lovely site and in the past years or so. How many you ask? Too many. Will I, The Gentleman With A Cane, make mistakes? All humans do, I assure you, Dear Reader. Will this be exciting and possibily addicting in it's telling?

Well, we shall see where this tale takes us, yes?

 **[Signed with a flourish, in an old penmanship that spoke of an ageless rhyme]**

 _ **The Gentleman With A Cane**_

 _P.S. This has recently, as of 1/11/2016, gone under minor revision. Any comments, reviews, criticisms, etc. will be appreciated. Also, I will place trigger warnings in front of a Chapter should it be too course, violent, graphic, or obscene in nature that may trigger a negative emotional reaction. I like to SCARE people - I do not enjoy putting people in mental asylums despite my Author's Note and the little ditty composed on my profile-page._


	2. Chapter 1 -The Sliver-Eyed Slayer

ARC I - BORN OF THE BLOOD

 **CHAPTER 1 - THE SLIVER-EYED SLAYER**

The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. This fear has existed since the dawn of humanity and will remain long after it's end. We cannot escape it, nor completely master it; we can only hope that it slithers past and ignores our presence as it gorges on some other helpless soul.

The darkness of the night-time skies shrouded all it touched in a blanket of silence. Save for the light of the moon; it covered all in it's primordial essence, all was quiet, all was still and stagnant... It was broken; by the sound of hooves pounding into the soft, un-even earth below. The beast of burden panted into the chilled air, spewing fog with it's every exhaling breath; it's form coated in a sheen of sweat - exhaustion clear and plain to any who bore witness.

Yet none did, all throughout the woods not a soul stirred from it's deep slumber; save for horse and rider. The old-mare screeched as it was pushed further, unused to the exertion - the saddle rubbing open skin, flaying hide and tearing rivets into the poor animal. A savage kick once more to it's side, the ride pushed the creature ever further - concerned with only fleeing.

That demon... That _BEAST_...

His panicked thoughts, once scattered like the leaves that littered the earth, formed into coherency. The shaggy-hair riddled with lice and greasy residue was pulled and scratched at by a clammy hand, unburdened with holding the reigns; and the besotted lout slowly calmed himself. The mare, grateful for the rest, slowed her pace.

'It's-surely it's far enough...' He thought, although his nerves still frayed at the edges of madness and reason. 'I should-'

Yet the howl of a lonely sort broke his clarity- obscured once more by the frenzied fear that first compelled him to run-

To flee and steal the horse from the stables-

To abandon his wife and son-

And the thread was broken; and the dipsomaniac flew into a unrestrained panic.

He still didn't know how he'd survived it - the moment that old bastard let go, Eirik bolted as fast as he was able to the door. All of his thought's were on hold, no time to process anything -

Until he was outside. Then Eirik could see everything that small, minor glimpse could never reveal; it held no candle nor contest to the sheer brutality that awaited outside the church.

The first sensation that greeted him was the overwhelming stench of rot and decay. It invaded like a savage barbarian who ransacks and leaves only devastation in their wake; the smell of iron and butchery. Eirik nearly retched.

It was when he opened his eyes fully that had him convulsing; body and stomach clenched in twisting pain with last night's measly dinner of fish, bread, and foul ale spattering the ground as the result.

Though his memory between then and now lay as scattered as though in a near-lucid dreamscape; the lazy drunkard could still make out bits and pieces of the grotesque scene. The strewn bodies of both soldiers and civilians, littered the area in a disarray. Clawing tears revealed the muscle and sinew that once animated them, some even appearing to be eaten. Organs spilling out of one, and like a mockery of decorations, hung from one of the stands. Another lay half-alive, the soldier's stomach flayed and gore scattered about like the raging remnants of a great and terrible storm. Other's more lay putrid and swollen, as though left for _days_. Like great bags of spoiled meat; left to the flies and insects buzzing about with newly lain offspring for the horrific feast.

A small whine escaped Eirik; sounding dog-like in it's nature. His gaze traveled further on, trying to make sense of the carnage. And made his breath hitch.

Coating the ground, bloody footprints of men clearly seen - and others of creatures clearly obscene in both thought and nature. Of their size, a grown man could easily fit both hands; fingertips to the back of the palm like a narrow point. It still wouldn't touch end to end, of that Eirik was sure.

The cobblestone was littered, underneath the bodies and bloody scene, with dragging claw-marks and the remains of rifle stocks. The stands were upturned, forming a makeshift barrier with cannons pointing towards the courtyard. Yet they were broken asunder, their wooden remains and nail joints like the humans who made them. As though someone (or something, Eirik's mind echoed uneasily) broke through.

Yet, he remained still, mouth agape. Unable to comprehend nor understand fully, WHAT manner of creature could cause such-

His thoughts, in a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty, were paused. His shock absolute at the next prevailing sense- his hearing. The greased-face pulled back in terror, heart pounding like the beating of savage drums, as sagging ears picked up an acute-

low-

menacing-

 _ **GROWL**_.

That sounded right next to him.

Back rim-rod straight as though lightning shot through him, rivers of sweat staining his woolen shirt and brown eyes wide; Eirik slowly turned his head. His face morphed into one of absolute horror as the inhuman sound became a guttural _**snarl;**_ of a thousand starved hounds demanding their feast. Blood scented and foul breath wafted over to Eirik, gaging him. The sightless gaze of the gore-clad THING- the grotesque abomination of writhing fury clad in matted fur, armed with sharpened fangs and deadly claws - came _**closer**_. It's muzzle shifted, the scent it picked up on was of MEAT and FEAR, coating the air and striking hunger into it's form once more. As it leaned forward, jaw stretched wide preparing -

The strangled cry, that came was not from Eirik. But from that of the half-dead solider. It rang out into the air, the pleading and rasping voice seeking salvation. From cracked lips that begged for water, his remaining eye firmly fixed on Eirik. Voice lifting once more-

"Help-"

Yet the moment the man voiced it, before he could finish; the blinded beast was upon him once more. It tore into him like a condemned dog tears into it's last meal - a feral frenzy unrestrained in animals and dormant in mankind. Eirik watched, unable to turn away, as the creature reared back. On it's two hind legs, standing as a man would; the beast arched toward the dark primordial skies and let loose a primal howl of triumph-

A howl, Eirik realized with abject horror, that was a **CALLING**. A signal, like the ringing of the dinner-bell, for MORE of it's twisted malformed brethren. It's was that exact precise moment that Eirik knew he had to escape; both the bestial horror and the grisly scene of death that seemingly screeched to him from some deep, obscure part of his instinct-

Run; or this is what you will become.

Tearing his mind away from the past; Eirik stirred once more into a frenzy. Urging the horse faster, muddy-eyes wide in a feral panic as he strove - with all of his might and being - to flee. This primal instinct urged him ever faster, ever more; yet such a sight after witnessing the events seen was a fool's dream. Yet, Eirik was never known for his 'boundless wisdom' and more known for his drunken fits: lashing at both family and friends. A man who would not be missed nor mourned by any.

The strain caught up to the horse, and with it's last breath it sounded- a deathly screech that made Eirik cry out in utter terror as it reminded him of that bestial horror -

And thus the horse fell to the side. Trapping Eirik underneath it weight.

"No, _**NO**_!" He grunted, hand gripping sweaty-bloody hide; teeth pulled back in a snarl as he spoke, "Damn you! Get up!" Struggling in vain, fear making it's nest in his hypocritical heart-

And jumped at the sound of... nothing.

The hairs of the back of his neck rose like the hackles of a frightened hound, the unease replacing the fear as Eirik took note of his surroundings. The un-natural pause of the forest, the trees stained like old-leather outstretched towards the sky like savage claws. The ground, cold seeping into his bones and unrelenting in it's nature, was littered with dead leaves and corpses of tiny insects. The un-nerving feeling invading like a poisonous miasma, as he noted a spider spinning it's web near where he lay. Deadly and unassuming, it spun without a care to the worries of the vulnerable soul trapped below.

 ** _'I'm going to die here_**.'

The sole thought rang out throughout his mind-

Yet was snuffed out by a blackened, near psychotic rage. Eirik still struggled and thrashed, feeling the strain of his bones and limbs. It is in the very nature of humanity to struggle, to fight, driving forth to continuing existence. His weary form pushed harder- lower torso and right arm trapped. He managed to get his left arm free and at the sight of it, crowed, a triumphant shout glee-

And noticed the stranger watching him from the side.

Wide-eyed and covered in sweat, filth, and... other fluids, Eirik twisted and turned as best he could. His struggles managed to free him, but barely, and as he rose his gaze from the dead-burden, Eirik gained a second regret that night.

They stood over, off to the side of the small over-grown uncared road. Merely observing, taking in the scene - the state of the long-dead mare and the rider's accident. They said not a word, nor gave any indication of help; and although un-nerved by them, Eirik then felt outraged. He shouted in a wheezy-wobbly tone that carried with it arrogance in spades-

"Hey! Why're ya just standin' there?! Are ya daft? ya hare-brained inbreed-stupid-"

He was silenced, not by a word or even by force. For dispassionate gun-metal eyes focused on him- piercing into Eirik's very soul, rendering him in a state of quite. They had a feral - almost inhuman look to them; un-naturally silver that seemingly glowed in the night. They saw everything, Eirik thought unrealistically; and like a deer meeting a hunter for the first time the dipsomaniac took on the stranger's appearance.

They were tall, but that could be because of his position on the ground and the darkness of the forest, with a predatory form that screamed at the instinct within him to run. Their face obscured by a withered back tricorn cap, an eerily-stained bandana completed the rest with only their eyes being visible. A grey-duster, ragged and worn with age, adorned them - with various pouches and belts to one of the strangest weapons Eirik ever witnessed. Barely making out the first one as a pistol- yet the stranger was so covered by the shade of the trees that it could've been a bloody blunderbuss for all he knew. The second was harder to tell, but bigger- almost like a butchers cleaver, maybe...?

"Where do you hail?" The voice was husky and gravelly, with a lilt that spoke of far-off places. But that's not what caught Eirik's attention-

It was more with the fact that it belonged to a _woman_.

He took in her posture, that although predatory could make out a slight tilt in the hips. They- **SHE** \- moved closer, into the dim moonlight and the drunkard also noticed that she wore one of the longest braid he'd ever seen. Long blonde-hair that cascaded down, nearly kissing the earth with it's length, reminding him of an agitated animal with the way it swished around.

Before he could make any other comment - and Eirik had _plenty_ with the night that went on - he could sense an underlying danger. That this woman was even more dangerous than the forest- and if possible even _more_ dangerous than the creature's that besieged-

"A'-Ah'-Arendelle. To-to the north-a-ways." He stuttered, motioning to the direction he recently travelled with a sore-aching hand, but hurriedly said, "But, I wouln't go there-"

A slender brow rose - the only sign of an expression on the still hidden face. The near crazed sot continued, breathless and nearly babbling-

"A-A demon... It's maddin', I know- but I swear," He quickly made a motion of the cross. "I **_swear_** on the Holy Maiden and Mother an' my children! A beast, it musta' rose straight from the mouth of- I- Hey wait! Where are-!"

The woman, who long ago turned her gaze from the blithering man, merely replied in the same stoic tone. "Arendelle."

And without another word or gesture, walked away.

It wasn't until she was well and truly gone that Eirik remembered how to properly breathe- and remembering his earlier predicament, Eirik motioned and squirmed his body-

Only to realize that the horse was fully off of him - _and on the other side of the path_.

Shivers crept along his spine like tiny spiders chilled with ice- trying to recall if he seen the woman moved any further than a few steps. Either he was distracted by his retelling; or that the woman was a witch, or even more chilling-

She wasn't _human_.

Eirik picked himself up, his weary from exhausted and bone tired from the spiraling events. His mind scattered, Eirik knew that he would never come back to Arendelle; be it for either his sake or for that of his deserted family - in his current state-of-mind, he couldn't give a single damn. As the drunkard hobbled away, a passing thought crossed his mind, and with fleeting shivers, Eirik amended his earlier statement-

That those sliver-eyes were that of a wolf's who walked freely among the sheep.

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 **[As you turn your tired gaze away from the screen, a note flutters by as though dropped by some bird. It was a familiar one, with the title of 'Author's Note]**

Dear Reader,

Well, isn't this thrilling? Mysterious creatures plaguing Arendelle, and a stranger with an agenda? I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it racked my brain until my dearest Muse told me to, in no small words, 'Type the damn story already, or your Readers will get the torches and pitchforks!' So type I did.

Let me know what you think, _ **if I made any mistakes then please voice them in constructive criticisms**_. Even if it's to throw bricks and stones at my story than I say to you: I am in need of a new fire-place in this freezing Hell that I'm in and your bricks would be welcome. But don't expect me to give you any S'Mores or hot-cocoa, especially if you the type of little shit who likes to break windows, proverbial or otherwise.

 **[Signed with a flourish with a penmanship that reminded you of an only rhyme]**

 _The Gentleman With A Cane_

 **P.S.** If any of you are of the curious sort and wonder when my updates are, than they are weekly until otherwise stated. Also, for those who may not have guessed, a dipsomaniac is another term for an alcoholic.


	3. Chapter 2 - Predator and Prey

ARC I - BORN OF THE BLOOD

 **CHAPTER 2 - PREADTOR AND PREY**

 **[TRIGGER WARNING - VIOLENCE/GORE, MENTIONS OF ALCOLHOL ABUSE]**

* * *

In the grim darkness of the world, there is only predator and prey. Although they may mix and it is and, has always been, one of the undeniable truths this cruel world holds-

To hunt, or become the hunted-

To kill, or become killed-

To fight, tooth and nail ( _fang and claw_ ), or to lie down and submit-

It is as certain as death, as certain as the need to breathe to prolong ones life. To those of higher standing that deem it 'savage' and 'barbaric,' it is one of the more hideous truths-

To those poor few who live and breathe everyday, of every hour, of every _moment_ \- it is as changing as the seasons; it is the way of the world, ancient as time itself.

But, in this ageless dance, there those few prey who fight back against the push and pull. Changing and morphing into something wholly unique unto themselves - **_They_ ** are both predator and prey, yet at the same time neither. **_They_ ** stalk and hunt, biding their time to strike at the first sign of weakness - the first and last mistake. Able to see the ebb and flow - the disharmonic chaos that links **ALL** as prey-

Human, only in appearance, these beings are both a blessed and cursed lot - **_They_ ** are as driven by the Hunt almost as much as the Beasts **_They_** slaughter without mercy or remorse; both in a state of ease, consumed yet sated in their primal need to hunt. **_They_ ** are called by many names, by some as monsters and others as saviors - yet it is this singular purpose that _**Their** true_ name arises -

 ** _They_ ** are called Hunters.

0-0

The profane-black sky; that appeared as endless as the void yet broken by both the rupture of moonlight and the scattering of peering stars, loomed high above. The gnarled tobacco-stained trees, ancient and seemingly knowing, stretched forth; claw-like branches attempting to grasp-hold of the night-lit sky and capture it with twisted fingers and earthen grasp. Near the cold, near-dead earth thistles and brambles - with sharpened barbs wickedly deceiving in their size - rose off to the side. Protecting a patch of seemingly inconspicuous, innocent bell-shaped flowers colored deep-red - deceivingly purple in the dark: they go by many names -

Devil's Cherries, Devil's Herb, Belladonna - _Deadly Nightshade_.

Beside it, lay the body of a small lamb - foolish enough to bite into the deceiving poison. It's body wracked with agony, breath coming in short bursts and eyes wildly-rolling in their sockets. It heard the tell-tale click of a hammer cocking back-

And the loud blast of a blunderbuss reverberated throughout the stillness of the dark forest.

Sure footfalls, near silent yet creaking, fell near the small deadly plant; wary of it's irritating defenders. Leather boots, muddy and well-worn, stepped to the forest edge - their owner beholding the besieged city of Arendelle with shining-sliver eyes faintly glowing.

The faint iron-coppery scent that wafted by in a passing caress became a nearly pungent-overwhelming stench - the whole of the land absolutely reeked, yet mercifully dulled by the bandana. Taking in the land; of small-hills with barely any brush cover and slight leveled fields used for farming - or maybe sheep herding considering the now-dead lamb she found earlier - with small houses appearing as distant as the city itself. She breathed in deep, despite wanting to avoid the foul stench-

Earth; of grasses and land, dirt tilled and rain-soaked from days before - the lands that lay before her.

Salty; of fish and the sea, with hints of lands unknowable and far-distant - the fjord and it's harbors.

Smoke; she and embers that still blazed as small-fires, burning and roaring - the houses that lay within the city.

Then she caught it - the smell of matted fur, of gore and blood; mixed and entwined with an animalistic-unnatural aroma. It was of Beast fused Man -

Her _prey_.

Almond-shaped eyes, lined with dark-edges, narrowed - brows slightly concealed by the tricorn-cap furrowed and bandana-hidden mouth turned into a grimaced frown -

She picked **IT** up, that foul muddied-rotting miasma that invaded and defiled.

 **IT** wasn't supposed to be here.

Damn. And to think she'd actually dismissed that frightened little imp of a man too -

Well, too late to do anything about it now, she silently mused.

Rolling her shoulders, feeling them creak and crack with the pleasurable sensation of near-pain; the Hunter shrugged off her weapon once more - a ragged and old blunderbuss given to her when the damned pistol broke. In her personal opinion, such a dainty weapon was ill-fitting in the line of work they did, but than again her Master did say that ' _pistols are pistols, rifles are rifles - they sure as hell aren't blunt weapon, so don't go 'round swingin' the damned things like clubs_.' His rough baritone-raspy colored from both smoke and old with age rang clear as day within her head - causing a slight tilt of her lips in an unfamiliar, peculiar sensation. It was quickly brushed off, and snapping out of her reverie as quick-deft fingers prepared the equipment -

(for tonight, there was prey-)

\- Gleaming bullets, nearly the same color as the woman's analyzing gaze, were loaded into the chamber. Averting her focus towards the second-even more unusual weapon in her arsenal and her preferred method of fighting: A large weapon, in the shape of a cleaver with a saw-like serrated blade...

(for tonight, the Beasts die-)

-Checking her pouches, a silent litany of swears and curses spilled out - nearly out of the vials of 'medicine' that aided her Hunt in more than one situation. Yet pulling out another, much more different bottle and a small pouch that accompanied it, she let out a chuckle at the familiar sight - a bottle of rum, barely a mouthful, and some bidi left. A smoke before she set out, or a drink? Decisions, decisions...

(for tonight, Kindred shall fall-)

Chucking the now empty bottle, ignoring the loud shattering of glass, both weapons unstrapped from their respective holsters - readied and armed as she'll ever be. Escaping from their confinement underneath the old-worn cap, blonde-chestnut hued bangs softly grazed in front of her vision-

(for tonight-)

-Grey duster, charcoal-hued colored with dirt and signs of old-battles, billowed behind like a pair of wings. Her long braid whipped at her back like the tail of an agitated hound as long-cloth covered legs, clad in black boots from knee to soles, strode forth-

(for tonight-)

In the darkness of the night, the stillness of the world, from the sprawling chaos and endless chasm of the celestial-heavens; a hundred-thousand eyes gazed down upon the lands - observing and taking note of things that had long gone, things that are here, and things yet to come - The Hunter's strong gaze, unwavering in resolve and intensity, focused forward. Senses heightened for any sudden movement, smell, or sound-

She spoke, echoing the old-archaic phrase like a prayer, invoking and yet proud - to what nameless, deity she cared not to know-

It echoed through the air, clear and loud to any who heard. Those that remained within their homes, tucked away safely and warm, shot up at the musically-haunting foreign lilt that sounded as though spoken _right next to them_ -

"Tonight, Alayne joins the Hunt."

0-0

The fog billowed in like the breath of a thousand weary-giants; rolling through the land and coating it in it's hazy-glow. A lantern, burned by the road betwixt the small town of Ullman and to the city of Arendelle, glowed in an ethereal-haunting light. The grass wet from the rolling perspiration; barely made so much as a crunching sound, squished and squelched as leather-clad feet made their descent.

Wary eyes darted to and fro, high alert. Her blood pumped with restrained adrenaline and instinct- warring with her logic and human-gained reason. Prowling towards the dirt covered road, she made out tracks:

One, small and light - a slight limp to their gait suggesting either a sprained or possibly malformed leg. With it to the side, a long stretch of dragging something.

The other, heavy and hurried - deeply inset that told of their possible terror and fear (or maybe excitement and urgency). Both headed towards the direction of the small shed.

And a third...

A heavy sigh overcame Alayne- and with reluctance, she marched forward. Coming up to the door, she could hear the acute sound of clicking, snapping noises. Like someone tapping their nails rapidly against wood or even a crab angrily clacking his claws. She took a step back and raising her leg, the Hunter slammed into the door: shattering it on impact and revealing the THING.

It was a small, disgusting creature; it could be almost described as bird-like. Yet birds had no need for fangs and the fat-sagging belly dragged on the ground; unable to even fly. The cataract eyes, glazed over with feral bloodlust, roamed over the tall statuesque woman. It let loose a horrendous shrieking-squawk-

And died at the long reach of the Saw Cleaver beheading it.

Silence was once again supreme. But, as a small form began to shuffle about Alayne firmly ordered, "Don't move."

Rapid footsteps, and ducking quickly, narrowed eyes made out the figure: A lupine-creature with curved horns and low hanging forearms. It's lips pulled back into a snarl, and bloody-viscera dripped down in near rivets. Moving almost inhumanly fast, the woman slashed upwards with her cleaver, then a blast from her blunderbuss: aimed from the crook of her elbow while both the blade and beast were still high. Chunks of flesh ripped through and letting out a final mournful-roar, it lie on the trail - dead.

Slender ears, elven-shaped and lightly covered by blonde-wisps of hair, twitched with the light sniffles. Sheathing her saw-blade, she wandered towards the suspiciously stacked boxes. Waiting for a moment, deciding. And after some thought, did what her own Master would have done with her when she was a child-

She gave a swift kick and sent the boxed-cover flying into the wooden wall. Spewing out it contents and watching as the small stores of cabbage scatter about. Revealing the small child from their spot, tucked away like a baby-fox in their tiny-burrow.

"'Ey-Wha-" He stopped, noticing that it wasn't the monster. That beast didn't wear such fine, intricately decorated leathers or a long-duster. Looking up, the boy's dark brown eyes widened at the tall stranger; mouth agape revealing his gapped-teeth.

"Who-who're you?"

"Someone who suggests that you find a better hiding spot."

Staring at the masked stranger, he realized that they spoke in a musically-raspy tone... and that they were _female_. Bucking up, he scowled, "I don't gotta listen to the likes of _you_!"

She stared at him, and without one more word, left the boy. His fair-skinned lined with freckles, paled and voice warbled slightly as he croaked out, "H-Hey! Where'ya goin'?" And receiving no answer, he walked towards the mysterious woman, rushing to meet her long strides. "Ya can't leave me here!"

She stopped, and the boy grew a slight smirk on his face. Cocky that he had her, he started to speak-

When she turned around and looked into his eyes.

His father always said that women were meant for _'bein' a wife an' raisin' brat's like you_.' Often saying it after he was done with another of his drunken ramblings and beatings. The mousey-haired youth barely remembered some of the stories that his poor mother told him - Stories about trolls and goblins, dragons and faeries-

And _Watchers_. That one always struck some kind of a cord with him.

 _'Sliver-Watchers_ ,' she called them, voice serene as she told the tale and hands waving. Portraying the slashing of their blades and fierceness of their legend; of how they protected Human-kind from _'Dark and Wicked things_.' They were good, honorable and courageous-

But the one thing that she _always_ warned him about - was that, although they protected Humans - They were _not_ human themselves.

Breath stuttering, he reacted to the bright-near glowing sliver - that screamed something within him to run, run, _**RUN**_! - and met it head on. He could make the barest hint of a scar, underneath their left eye, vertical and raised. Focusing on that, finding his voice, he quickly spoke before it was lost, "I wanna come with you."

"I'm not your nurse-maid. Now leave."

Whipping around, she strode forward; intent on continuing the Hunt and not wasting anymore time with such a... milk-drinker.

0-0

Thomas was torn - on one hand he knew deep in his gut, that this was a bad idea. Even worse than the time he snuck into the chicken-coop and let out all the hens and replaced them with roosters. Old Geir was angrier than he'd ever been - face red and ears practically streaming. He remembered getting wacked by him, than kicked around by his father -

He couldn't move right for a week after.

Palms sweaty, he looked at the direction the lady - the Sliver Watcher, he reminded himself - went off into. Arendelle. The city that was shining and gleaming like a far-off dream, a distant gem that he'd _never_ be able to go to. Not until he was at least sixteen-summers, and from his mother's count he'd only seen twelve.

Dark brow, slightly bushy with wiry-hair curled and sticking to his forehead, slanted as did his small lips. Everyone always told him that - Every-time he'd ask to go somewhere, anywhere, they all say the same thing:

No, he was too young. No, he wasn't old enough. No, they weren't going to take a scrawny barely-there stick of a boy.

Feeling his footsteps moving himself forward, long scraggly frame quickening it's pace towards the city of Arendelle, towards the shining beacon in the dark-

Towards the Sliver Watcher, and her steady march.

0-0

 _'Only the strong survive - it's is because they have earned the right. The weak have no place amongst us, girl.'_ Those words rung out, like the ringing of the bells - the ringing of the death knells. Reminding her, with every step and every breath that she was denying the truth-

Ignoring the obvious.

"H-hey..." The harsh panting of breath accompanied the boy. His lean form drenched with sweat and eyes hooded with restlessness. The Hunter glanced forward and noted a good spot. A good hollow that was well protected - with ancient, strong-oak. Perfect.

"Boy-" But she was cut off by the child's whining.

"It's not _boy_! My name is Thomas! It's Thomas, an-" He was cut off. Not by sight nor sound-

But by force, as it was the only way to deal with the lad.

Alayne stepped towards him, then digging deep within herself, tapped into the primal part of her spirit. Flickering and dull, the woman fanned the flames into a small fire-

And disappeared. Right in front of Thomas, as though a flash of ethereal lightning. He didn't blink, didn't move for the longest time. Jaw agape, eyes wide in shock the next words slipped out of his mouth like drops from a mounting rainfall.

"By the Maiden's Sacred _Tit's_ -"

And feeling a sharp pain, a violent smack on the side of his head, Thomas passed out on the ground - out cold. The grey-duster swept over him like a funeral shroud, and picking him up the woman commented, "What the Hell's does this boy eat? Dew-drops? He's _too_ light..."

Moving the young body over to the hollow, she set him in there. Making sure of it, Alayne covered the child with leaves and bits of branches; topping it off with a bark-door to hide the boy away.

Looking at the result of her labors, the Hunter nodded solemnly to herself. Saying it for her own sake (and maybe for the sake of the child) the sliver-eyed slayer spoke into the surrounding darkness, "There is no place for the likes of your kind, boy. Not in this world, nor in any others. Forget about _Sliver Watchers_ and live on - Live as a human and die as a human..."

* * *

 _ **[As you turn your gaze, a flash of brilliant hues appears out of the corner of your eye. Turning quickly, your spine chills as a cackling-laughter fills your ears accompanied by the fluttering all-too familiar note drifts down: 'Author's Note']**_

Dear Reader(s); This is an unexpected and rather interesting development, isn't it? It seems that the mysterious Hunter has a heart - albeit a 'tough-love' sort than a matronly grandmother or sweet mother. And it seems as though we get some past details from her _AND_ the young boy- Thomas. I wonder what role they will play...?

As for the Beasts that lurk amongst the shadows and drift about in the darkest corners of your memory, we shall soon see what sad-sorry state Arendelle has gathered into since Eirik the Drunk left, eh? Maybe it's not _so_ bad - the church was sealed up rather tightly... or _was_ it?

As always, please leave a review if you enjoyed, comment in the event that I made any errors - and to the little shits who decided to egg my manor? The so called 'friends' who turned tail and ran as soon as my hounds appeared? I suggest you lock _all_ of your doors - they're coming for you _next_...

 _ **[Signed with a flourish, in an penmanship that spoke of an ancient rhyme]**_

 _The Gentleman With A Cane_


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